The Foretastes of Jaded Faction
by MoarCowbell
Summary: [Green Wing] A collection of drabbles highlighting the lighter moments. Which, in Green Wing, is nearly all the time. Rated T for language. R
1. Lavatorial Humour and Other Bumf

_**The Foretastes of Jaded Faction**_

_**Lavatorial Humour and Other Bumf**_

_Oooh, this is me, branching into Green Wing! I had no idea what to use as the title of this little collection of drabbles, based on those little in-between scenes which really have no point whatsoever but they're rather amusing nonetheless. So here it is, the first one, may more come if you decide to make my day and review… And I hope the British Comedy genre gets up and running soon, it's so slow compared to other fandoms. May more Green Wingers come!_

Guy Secretan glanced restlessly from side to side, fidgeting slightly in his dark blue suit, bought new for the occasion, of course. For Guy was at the prestigious Swiss Schwingen Convention in London, a rare honour for only a _half-Swiss.­ _

'I can't believe Schwingen is a type of wrestling. Who knew?" Guy swept a flute of champagne off a passing waiter, downing it in one shot. "I mean by the name you'd immediately think-"

"That what, you'd get here and there'd be naked couples everywhere, writhing bodies for all the eye to see?" Mac, who had been dragged along as Guy's escort, not something he was entirely up for, nodded and smiled to the various suits around them which formed a small circle of wealthy Swiss businessmen and their escorts, all dressed immaculately in the latest Swiss fashions. All except for Mac, who looked rather out of place in a leather jacket and _jeans._

"Well yeah, it's not even naked wrestling!" Guy kept his voice low so as not to offend the other men around them. 'Talk about a waste of time!"

"So, Mr Secretan, what do you think of the proposition of joining the Schwingen Guild for particularly interested Schwingeners?" A man in a startlingly golden suit turned his attention to Guy.

"Well, actually, I'd love to stay and discuss the prospect of socialising with people and enjoying good food, fine wines and intelligent conversation, or perhaps converse with like-minded and economically influential men like yourself, but I'm afraid the champagne is… going through me…" He glanced between a few of the men, trying to convey his need to excuse himself. "I… need to shake the dew off the lily…"

The Swiss men around him looked puzzled, wrinkles creasing their botoxed foreheads.

Guy tried again, glancing at Mac for help. The latter, however, was rubbing the bridge of his nose and trying to keep the smirk off his face. "I need to drain the snake… you know, shake hands with an old friend."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Mr Secretan."

He sighed, closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to keep his temper, and the raging torrent of liquid inside of him under control. "I need to pump ship, to burn the grass, to water the dragon!"

"He, uh, needs to check on the scones, visit Sir John, pick a rose." Mac stepped in to help, deciding that there was only so much strain Guy could take before he burst. And the literal result wouldn't be pretty. "He's got to visit the old soldier's home!"

"Sorry, where do you have to go Mr Secretan?"

"To the bog!" Guy was now squirming as he fought to control his bladder.

Mac nodded, inwardly praying that the Swiss idiots would understand the loo-phemism.

"To the Gents!"

"The Holy of Holies!"

"The Jericho!"

"The netty!"

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr Secretan, and, er…" He squinted hard at Mac's name tag, speaking as the very sound left a bad taste in his mouth. "…Mac. Would you care to be more precise?"

"Precise? Precise?! Do you know hard it is to be _precise_ when there's a raging waterfall of piss just waiting to explode out of your penis? Very fucking hard, that's how hard! And if your head is shoved that far up your non-swinging clothed arse that you can't see I need to _go to the toilet_ then perhaps I should just piss all over you!"

There was an ominous silence. An elegant lady dropped her hor devours into a champagne flute, and the golden suited man stared at guy, agape.

Guy hesitated for just a moment, then thrust his empty flute into Mac's hands and bolted for the bathroom, pushing stunned people out of his way as he went. There was a moment of silence before Guy came rushing back.

"Actually, I'll, uh, just grab some of these…" He scooped up a couple of hor devours from a waiter, nodded his thanks and darted off to relieve himself.

Mac turned to the group of silent Swiss gentlemen. "He uh, he can't hold his liquor very well. Sorry."

_And there it is, just a little bit of fun. Thanks for reading! Now you should review. even if it's just a smiley face.._


	2. Who Framed Martin Dear?

_**The Foretastes of Jaded Faction**_

_**Who Framed Martin Dear?**_

****

Mac and Guy were lounging about the hospital staff room, attempting in vain to look remotely busy while still producing effortless charm and cool. Caroline pottered in, picking fluff of her white coat. "Lookout for Sue, someone stole all the left-handed scissors from her office and now she's on a hunt to melt down all the cast iron she can find."

Although Mac seemed remotely interested, Guy continued to direct all of his attention on perfecting the 'I'm _completely_ relaxed in my life yet have a strong set of moral beliefs without over-stepping the line from the guy you take home to mum to the guy you duck behind the bread shelves from in the supermarket in an attempt to hide yourself from him and his devout endeavours to turn the whole world into Mother Teresa duplicates, or the male counterpart thereof.'

There was a bang, a thud, and a breathless Martin careened into the room. His coat pockets were full of scissors, some even dangling precariously from his ears. A large wooden photo frame surrounded his head, sweaty hands clutching the sides.

"I've been framed!"

_Okay, so not quite a babble, but nearly. How about ¾ of a babble? Eh? No? Right._

_Anyway, thanks loads for reading, hope you enjoyed this little bit that was pointless, plotless and… well, any other synonym under the sun. Or possibly even the moon._

_**R&R?**_


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